


in all its bitter tragedy

by RainbowRandomness



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Death, Gen, How Do I Tag, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowRandomness/pseuds/RainbowRandomness
Summary: “I am waiting for a good death.”
Kudos: 5





	in all its bitter tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> haven't written shit in almost two years or somin but somehow got inspired by skyrim and the amount of death the dragonborn deals with and spat this out so hmmm enjoy ?
> 
> Title from _This Will End_ by The Oh Hellos

The Orc is found by a bridge East of Whiterun. The slain carcasses of the wilds beasts lay defeated at his feet, their golden fur marred with blood from the fight that cost their lives. He stands, unfazed by their bodies or the blood that still clings to his skin, his eyes looking far away past the plains of Skyrim to a place you cannot see.

You approach him, cautious and curious. Your hand rests idly by the hilt of your sword that sits against your hip, and you move to stand beside him. You follow his gaze, looking out across the flowing river, and ask him what it is he is waiting for.

_“I am waiting for a good death.”_

He says this calmly, his voice deep and rich, sounding strong. There’s no hesitation in his voice nor his words and you find yourself quiet for a moment, absorbing the statement.

You question him a moment later, asking why he wishes to die and what a good death entails. He humours you, answering your queries with the same calmness, as though he is merely informing you of facts you previously didn’t know. He tells you he is too old, it is his time. He wants to leave while he still considers himself a ‘proper man’ capable of a good fight and an honourable death.

_“Malacath has given me a vision of a glorious death.”_ He says, watching as the fish swim with the current of the river, _“I am to wait here until it finds me.”_

You attempt to talk him out of the idea of dying so soon. You tell him he isn’t aged, that there can be more to his life, but he brushes you off easily and tells you he has decided it is his time. For him, this is it, and he waits to welcome death with a weapon in hand and acceptance in his heart.

He asks you if you plan to be the one to give him his good death. You hesitate, unsure if you can give him what he wants. In the end though, you nod your head, _yes_ , and he looks at you with warmth and respect in the darkness of his eyes.

You stand opposite each other on the dirt road, weapons drawn, stances ready to strike. You think to plead with him once more to reconsider, but you keep quiet. He looks at you and his lips twitch up into a smile, as though he knows what you’re thinking.

When he nods, you move, both of you trying to be the one to strike first. You lunge towards him, weapon raised and shield held firm in front of you to block his attack. His axe makes contact with your shield, splintering part of the wood with the force behind the attack, and you push him back before swinging your sword to catch him in his side.

When the blade connects with the skin just beneath his ribs, he howls, but not in pain, but with joy. His howl becomes an uproarious laugh that reverberates through your chest, and you begin to understand what they mean when they speak of honour in death in the midst of battle. You almost smile, even as the Orc swings his axe towards you once more, catching the steel edge of your shield.

You fight, both of you dancing around each other, ducking from and weaving away from his attacks. The sharp edge of his axe nicks your skin and you hiss in pain before darting forward, sword thrust before you.

When you feel the blade sink deep into flesh and hear the roar of pain that follows, you freeze. Despite everything, you had almost forgotten the purpose of the fight, and the weight of the Orc’s body held against your sword makes you falter.

Despite his cry, he still swings at you, the fight not yet drained from him. You move back, your sword follows you and the sickening wet sound of the blade exiting the Orc’s torn flesh makes your next intake of breath sharp and painful.

You watch as he hovers where he stands, seeming dazed, until his hand moves to rest against the bloody wound at his side. You can see muscle and you’re sure that’s the white of his ribcage showing through the ripped skin. His hand touches tentatively and you see him wince, drawing his hand away to gaze at the blood left on his fingers.

A part of you wants to plead with him to stop. To offer to take him to Whiterun, to Windhelm, wherever they could reach first. You could find him a doctor, an alchemist, someone able to help him rest and heal.

The offer rests at the tip of your tongue, your mouth ready to open and speak, but he doesn’t give you a chance to say anything as he lifts his axe high and moves to strike.

You raise your shield above your head and feel the axe hit against the wood. You almost stumble from the force behind it but keep your ground, and you thrust forward, knowing what you must do to finish this fight.

The second time your sword pierces his skin, you’re ready for it. You aim for his abdomen and feel the steel cut through the flesh, the fat, the muscle, until the blade breaks through the other side and he is completely pierced through.

His gasped breath comes out sounding wet, and you move to stand before him so that you may look him in the eye as he dies. Not because you gather pleasure from doing so, nor because you wish to see his life drain in front of you, but because you respect him and the fight he gave, and you want him to know this.

You stare into the dark pools of his eyes, your hand still gripping the hilt of the sword that he is now dying on, and you try to convey your thoughts through the silence between you. He must understand you in some way because he grins, his large tusks on full display between his smiling lips.

Something inside your chest aches and you cannot pinpoint why. You feel his hand find the back of your neck and you move easily as he brings you closer until he can lean his head forward and rest his forehead against yours, his eyes falling shut. You dare not close your own eyes.

_“An honourable death.”_ He murmurs, voice still deep, still rich, but sounding weaker now, tinged with wetness. The green hue of his skin is turning ashen, paling before your very eyes.

You lower the both of you to the ground and wait until he takes his final breath. You feel it as it ghosts across your flushed cheek and, finally, you allow yourself to close your eyes, even if it’s just for a moment.

*

You bury him near where the water falls, beside the riverbank. His grave is hidden amongst the trees, marked only by a pile of collected stones and the freshly upturned earth.

You sit beside his grave covered in flecks of his blood from the fight, and smears of dirt from digging his grave. In your hand you hold a small collection of wildflowers in any colour you could find growing nearby, and you twirl their stems idly between your fingers.

You did not learn his name, and he had not learnt yours. You did not know him beyond this chance encounter, stood beside a bridge overlooking a river, with thoughts of a final fight and the promise of eternal battle and immortality waiting for him in the afterlife.

You did not know his life, only his final wish, and you believe you have granted it to him.

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [tumblr](http://rainbow-randomness.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/RainbowRandoms)
> 
> I do not give permission to have any of my works put up on goodreads or any other such site.


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